


The Prince's Bride

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Category: Princess Bride (1987), Supernatural
Genre: As you wish, F/M, Fluff, Inspired by Princess Bride, Jello, Sick Sam Winchester, Snot, Teen Sam Winchester, The Princess Bride References, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 22:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12330189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: Sam is too sick to go to school, and Dean and John are still days away.  What will he do to pass the time?





	The Prince's Bride

**Author's Note:**

> This is for @chaos-and-the-calm67 and her #Bev’s 80s Writing Challenge. I’ve been sitting on this for a while, at least a year, and this challenge pushed me to figure it out. I think it’ll work best if you discover it all for yourself, so no clues here. I hope you like it.

Sam thunks the receiver down on the phone and tugs Dean’s jacket tight around his waist.  He can’t bear to bend over and feel the pressure in his head again, so he squats by his school bag to pull out his lunch box.  He’d gotten ready, packed his bag, on time and everything, but when he opened the front door and felt how the wind made him wobble he knew he was ratshit and should never have gotten out of bed.  His dad, John, was kind about it, already apologetic that he and Dean would be away another few days. He promised he’d call the school and have them drop around his homework.  Yey.

Some days, school is a haven of consistency and make-believe suburbia.  Other days it’s annoyingly unreal.  What are grades for anyways.  His Mondays and Tuesdays are Grade-A role-plays and he lines up for lunch and re-learns the core curricula with an enthusiasm that’d make a mother clutch at picture frames.  But by Friday - especially in the weeks when they’ve taught him nothing new - he’s flicking through Dracula again and half-tempted to skip school so he can pretend to save Dean from werewolves, or rescue his dad from a djinn, and barely escape death himself, of course.  Or he’ll even check out what they have in supernatural lore at the local library, though he usually saves that for weekends.  Anything to make his family feel near when he can’t jinx them into coming home.

There’s just enough fruit in the house to last till they come back, probably enough bread and always, always a shit-ton of canned soup.  Sam has learned to round up on his shopping and eke out the funds. It’s been four months since they’ve returned on the promised date - two towns and five hunts in a row.

The only upshot is the extra time in the same place.  Still, he wouldn’t be too sad to leave this town.  The people are nice but he hasn’t connected with anyone in particular.  It’s been awhile since he’s wondered if any of the other latch-key kids are cleaning their own bathroom, or doing the shopping, or being thankful their house is so old and dusty that vacuuming is a waste of time.  

On Sunday, after filling the day walking to the park, through the park, exploring the forest connected to the park and taking the long way back to the house, he pretended the _entire_ house was wooden - a fat, polished-cork couch, a woven mulch matt, and sawdust water. He robotted around the rooms for a while, then went marionette-style until his thighs hurt.  And then he did some exercises, all the ones you can do without equipment, some with soup cans in his hands.  He does 12 of each - sit-ups, push-ups, pop-ups, squats - but he doesn’t start counting till it hurts.  He can see it’s making a difference, though what he really wants is height, and you can’t pull-up yourself tall.

Sam dumps his snacks on the dusty lounge chair by the bed and peels off the shoes, jacket and jeans before sliding back under the covers, rubbing his sports-socked feet in the slight residual warmth down there.  There are still some library books on the other side of the bed, all of them annoyingly familiar.  Then, looking at his stash, it occurs to him that he’s forgotten so many things and he’ll have to get out of bed to do a few trips.  Later, he thinks, and resigns himself to fishing out the half-used tissues from his jeans pocket on the floor.

“No! Sam!” Sully calls out. “Don’t use them!”  

Sam lets his knuckles rest on the dust-soft hardwood and lays his head on the pillow.  He looks down the side edge of the bed, watching Sully back into the room with a trolley of goods.  Tissues, cold medicine, water, gummy bears, cut apple, a few books, it’s all quickly by the bed and Sully moves what’s on the chair onto the trolley too.  

“Naaaw Buddy, have one of theeese,” Sully coos, handing him a tissue, ”and then one of these. With some of this.”  He offers up the medicine and water and Sam gazes up at him, a small puffy smile on his face since he can’t breathe through his nose.  “C’mon, Sammy,” he nods.  “Feel better for a while.”

Sam sits up and blows his nose - blows and blows and blows enough for Sully to lean back and make a yucky face - and takes the drugs.

“So Dad and Dean are gonna be a few extra days huh?” Sully nods, tucking his hands between his knees.

“Yeah,” Sam swallows loudly.  “Dere were mbore vampires dan dey t’ought.”  He carefully folds the used tissue and puts it on the trolley, then sniffs enough to clear a nostril.  

Sully glares at the wet little parcel a moment then gives his best forgiving grin.  “I’ll just go get a waste basket!”

While he’s gone, Sam rearranges the pillows so he can sit up and considers putting Dean’s jacket back on. It’s always easier to wear it than see it empty on a chair.  

Sully returns and fusses the basket on the trolley’s lower shelf, while Sam’s lost in stuffy thought.  It’s been a long time since Sam told Sully he could go, at least two years he guesses. Sully’s just as Sam remembers, but he doesn’t feel quite so childish as he thought he was, not silly or frivolous.  Sam finds he can pretend along just fine.  

And anyway, Sully is worth ten doses of medicine.

By the time Sully’s handed him the jacket and watched him pull it on, he’s caught onto Sam’s mood. “They’ll be okay,” he says gently.  “They’re always okay.”

“Yeah.” He looks at Sully like he’s fine, eyebrows high.  “Oh yeah.  Always.”  Sam realises that without school to distract him, and imprisoned by bad weather and poor health, it’ll be a long few days trying not to worry about them being away so long.

“Ya wanna watch some TV?” Sully asks, perking up way beyond what TV deserves.

Sam looks at him sideways.  “Ndoh Sully, TV’s crap-hh.”

“Yeah, I know,” he deflates.  “Sometimes you can find a good movie though.”

“The odds are against us,” Sam sniffs, pulling up the covers.

“What about I read you a book?” Sully offers hopefully.

Sam thinks of the pile on the floor, and the short stack by the couch.  None of them are books he’s read for the first time, some of them for the third.  He sighs heavily, trying to pick one he can be bothered hearing again, even if it is Sully reading them.

“How about I _tell_ you a story?” Sully leans back, double-chinned and grinning at the idea.

Sam giggles at him.  “What? Like mbake one up-hh?”

“Sorta, yeah!” Sully nods. “Yeah! I mean, I know a few stories.  How about I tell you a story and you just take it easy?”  Sully pans his hands out over where Sam lies, like he isn’t hot and snotty and has a choice about the day.

Sam laughs some more, stirring the best friend he’s ever had. “You don’t kndow any stories.”

“Oh Sammy,” Sully says, pulling his chair near.  “I am gonna tell you the best story ever told.  The greatest! Tale! On Earth!” He moves his hands like he’s presenting a banner, then leans his elbows on his knees.  “It’s about a boy named Sam.  He’s a bit older than you.” Sully smiles wide and loving, and Sam smirks into his own lap.  “He goes to college, a college that’s hard to get into. He studies law and he meets a girl. Named Y/N.”

Sam grins, pulling the blanket up to his chin, watching Sully get rolling.

“She likes him,” Sully smirks, leaning in for the gossip.  “She thinks he’s smart and handsome.  And he thinks she’s amazing.  Anytime she asks him to do something, he does it. He can’t help it.” - Sam starts a quiet coughy-giggle - “And he doesn’t even know if she’s the prettiest girl on campus, she’s just the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.”

“No-no-no!” Sam laughs, denying it all with his hands.

“Yayaya Sammy, he does-” Sully waves him down. “He thinks she’s so pretty he can hardly speak! She’s not even sure what his _voice_ sounds like.”

“No! No way! I would _talk_ to her!” Sam rocks back, sure he’d be a braver man. “Oh mby god, I would use words.”

“No Sam. She is going to blow. You. Away, buddy.”

“Waiwaiwait, is this a kissing story?” Sam asks, suspicious.

Sully peers at the ceiling, tick-tocks his head thoughtfully.  “Mmmmm-there _might_ be a kiss or two…  But don’t worry. It’s a great story. It’s got everything.  Kings, villains, fighting-”

“Monsters?”

“Oh- well, I thought we could leave that stuff out of it,” says Sully.  “Maybe take a break from all o’that.”

“Yeah but I kinda like it when it’s at least a bit realistic.”  Sam seems intent, and Sully nods “Oh,” thinking of how bittersweet it always was to be Sam’s.

“Is Dean in it?”

“Oh! Oh yeah, everyone’s in it,” Sully nods seriously.  He hands Sam a tub of jello and collects one for himself.

“Why are you talkingkh about her so mbuch?” Sam asks with as much indifference as he can muster, but Sully knows better. It’s been four towns since he really started noticing girls and he desperately wants something to happen with someone nice.

“Because she’s the reason everything happens!” Sully exclaims around a mouthful of green jello, almost letting a chunk escape in his excitement.

“Oh, okay.” Sam rolls his eyes.

Sully goes on, spooning into his food.  “Anyway. One day, Y/N asks Sam to carry her books for her.  He’s already got his own books, right? He’s carrying like all the laws of Washington in these books and she says “Would you carry my books please Sam?” Sully mimics the high voice, bats his eyelashes, and Sam grins as he chews and puffs around a mouthful of red globby goodness.

“She knows it’s too much to carry,” Sully goes on, “and Sam knows too.  She’s just saying it to make a conversation and be cheeky.  But he’s like _Oh you don’t think I can?_ And picks them up anyway, stacked right up under his chin!” Sully spreads his knees and leans up tall to balance all those imaginary books.  Sam giggles and watches Sully lean over awkwardly and gaze at Sam with adoring eyes, Sam gazing right back.  “He looks her in the eye, Sam, and tells her - ‘cause he _really_ likes her and he wants so much that she could just read his mind and know it - he looks her right in the eye and he says “As you wish”.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be working on this for NaNoWriMo 2017 and doubt I'll post any more before December, but once I do I hope to be consistent.  
> In case my hints were too vague, or you haven't seen the wonder that is The Princess Bride, this is that roughly plot in an SPN universe.


End file.
